


a narrow light (but certain)

by vype



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Travel, Unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vype/pseuds/vype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“We travel,” Lucina answers, to anyone who asks what they do. Morgan usually smiles and nods, and doesn’t feel the need to add much to it. It’s accurate enough.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They don’t go to Plegia.</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>Excerpts from Morgan and Lucina's journeys after the events of the game.<br/>Unfinished, maybe to be continued/rewritten in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a narrow light (but certain)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrennaSnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrennaSnow/gifts).



> I was going to fill the Morgan/Lucina prompt that I was given, but another one called out to me a bit more. I do hope I'll be able to continue this someday, but just in case, I'd like to put what I have completed up here.
> 
> Some of the things I had in mind:  
> \- letters as a framing device (Year 1 based around a long letter from Cynthia to Lucina, Year 2 based around shorter letters that Morgan writes to other people)  
> \- Virion, Basilio, and Flavia being meddling meddlers who meddle  
> \- Aversa showing up every now and then, also to meddle ("who's my favorite little nephew?")  
> \- a little bit of Taguel worldbuilding with Panne/Cordelia girlfriends. Sorting out emotional problems with Panne, Severa, and Yarne, whoo.  
> \- Lucina+Gangrel interaction for tension and hilarity

“We travel,” Lucina answers, to anyone who asks what they do. Morgan usually smiles and nods, and doesn’t feel the need to add much to it. It’s accurate enough.

One Feroxi winter is more than enough for the both of them, so by the time the snow begins to melt, they’re already cutting their way across the country, headed west for the ports. Central Valm has a milder climate more similar to Ylisstol, and anyway, they don’t want to overstay in Ferox, despite Khan Basilio’s hearty welcome.

They don’t go to Plegia.

They accidentally run into Brady and Noire in a small town somewhere in Northern Ylisse after a performance, catch glimpses of Sully and Kellam heading patrols out near the borders; there are whispers of the Exalt’s sister cavorting around in Valm, and Lucina always starts whenever she hears the flapping wings of wild pegasi overhead, glancing about for her mother or sister.

There is somebody they never see or hear about. 

And, well, Morgan doesn’t have the right to be upset about it. That’s the entire reason he suggested avoiding Plegia, after all.

-

Morgan doesn’t think that he’s ever had a problem with anger management, but he’s held his tongue every other time and it’s been wearing on him over the months so it just… slips out. Before he realizes it his voice is already cracking on the words, “I thought you of all people would know what it’s like to have your father used against you.”

The moment the sentence slips out he’s mortified. Mortified, but not sorry, and he stalks down the hallway with his head held high.

Lucina finds him half an hour later with his hood pulled up and head in his hands, in the middle of a full-blown panic. She quietly closes the door of his room behind her and slinks down the wall next to him. She doesn’t say anything, or try to touch him, but breathes deep and slow and regular so he can follow.

“Father isn’t mad at you,” she says, when his breaths stop stuttering. “He wants to apologize.”

Morgan doesn’t believe it. He lets her know.

“Really,” she insists. He hums noncommittally, and she sighs. 

Morgan’s admitted to feeling angry about the state of things to her in the past, and they’ve had similar conversations. And, well, it’s not as if Uncle Chrom doesn’t have good reasons to be angry. Morgan understands that. But… it’s hard living with someone who hates your father.

Lucina stops, looking away for a moment. She licks her lips before she speaks, and Morgan gets the feeling that the question isn’t solely directed towards him.

“Do you want to leave?”

No, that’s not what Morgan wants. But what he wants is impossible in its simplicity, and running away seems like a good way to try and forget that, if only for a while.

“Yes,” he says.

-

_Year 1_

Morgan laughs as Lucina shakes her hair out of the back of her collar. Even after all this time, it’s not comfortable, and she still ends up yanking out a couple of strands that have gotten caught in between the gaps of her armor.

“Congratulations. It was a good fight today,” he says. She pulls off her mask, lets it drop onto the desk beside the letter that he’s reading.

-

Some days, Lucina’s doing better. Not necessarily _getting_ better, but, well, she doesn’t know if she’s capable of that. Not yet, at least.

Other days, she envies Morgan. She knows it’s not fair, but she’d rather be left with no memories than too many. Some days, a harmless walk down a busy street is interrupted by flashes of flame, rubble and corpses sprawled across cracked cobblestone roads, images of a broken Ylisstol superimposed over the streets of West Ferox in a terrifying double vision.

-

_How is Morgan?_ writes Cynthia.

_Morgan is like the dusk,_ Lucina wants to say. Fleeting, impermanent, some sort of transient state of being. Red and gold and purple like the most vibrant sky, and depending on who you ask, either caught between two opposing states or the way by which they may unite. 

But she’s not yet Owain enough that she doesn’t realize that it’s pretty embarrassing. So she’ll keep this to herself.

_He’s doing fine,_ she writes instead. It’s the least of the smaller lies she's had to tell.

-

If Morgan had known, he would have laughed, quietly.

“If I’m dusk, then Lucina’s like the night–or, no, moonlight. Deep blue and silver, the moon peering through mist-wisp clouds, strong and constant and gentle.”

“The kind of moonlight you could read a book to,” he’d add wistfully, flipping the corner of a lovingly dog-eared page up and down.

-

He’s never asked Lucina what she thinks of his father. Perhaps it’s cowardly of him. That’s fine. Morgan’s fine with being a coward if he won’t have to choose.

-

“I had nightmares about falling,” his father said. “Sometimes I’m the one falling. Not usually, though.”

He asked Mother the same question once. She had paused and looked down. Given the benefits of hindsight, Morgan now realizes that she was looking at the back of her hand.

“Eyes,” she said. “Eyes and wings.”

-

Lucina has never known Aunt Emmeryn, but there is just as much anger in being robbed of the chance to know someone as there is in being robbed of them.


End file.
